


if we die tonight

by queenspacegay



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fuck Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scenes, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-03-30 21:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19035577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenspacegay/pseuds/queenspacegay
Summary: “If we die tonight,” Jaime murmured against her.“We won’t.”“If we do-”“I won’t let you.” Brienne's voice was resolute and left no room for arguing. He smiled sadly, thumb catching a rogue tear as it slipped from her eye and brushing it away.“You are the very best of us,” He said it like a prayer.“Stay with me tonight,” She sounded as if she was unsure she was allowed to ask.A retelling of Jaime and Brienne's story from s8e02 by someone who gives a shit about their character arcs





	1. Before the battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to start at the morning after they slept together but I decided a drunken game of never have I ever just didn't do their relationship justice, however utterly wonderful Nik and Gwen were in that scene. 
> 
> this is un beta'd and it's 4am so forgive me if it's rough but i couldn't get the thought of this out of my head

They were the last to leave the fireside, the eve of the battle. Jaime had hardly been able to take his eyes off Brienne the rest of the night, she positively glowed under her new knighthood, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He didn’t think he could ever recall a time when she had looked so happy. By this time the next eve they would likely all be dead, but at least he was able to gift her this spark of joy before it all ended. 

One by one the other men had peeled away from the group. Podrick was the last to go, smiling privately proudly at Brienne after she permitted his leave. He shot Jaime a fleeting knowing look as he bowed his way out. and just like that, Jaime and Brienne were alone together in the crackling warmth of the fire. 

Jaime wanted to say something, but his body seemed reluctant to shatter the silence that had descended on the hall. In the end, it was Brienne who spoke first. 

“I should get some sleep. You should too,”

“Allow me to escort you to your chambers, Ser,” He said the title so sweetly he thought she must feel the weight of it, but she only inclined her head. 

“I assure you I will be fine,”

“I insist,” He said, locking eyes with her, and it was a long moment before she replied. 

“Alright.” Her voice was clipped in that way of hers she so often adopted when speaking to him, and she blinked several times. He wondered when she had become a puzzle for him to obsess over. 

 

They did not speak on their walk to her chambers, but the air felt charged between them. When they reached her door she hesitated for a moment, before opening it and stepping aside, a clear invitation. 

The room was warm and bathed in orange flickering light. Brienne had adapted well to the North, always so diligent. She began fumbling with the straps of her armour, and he stepped forwards, brushing her hands aside to replace with his own. One hand helping another with their armour was easier, as he’d found, than two attempting ones own. She accepted the help quietly, providing an extra hand whenever he struggled, and when he was finished she got to work on his own. He tried to ignore the feeling in his chest at her close proximity. 

“Podrick is very proud of you,” He said as she finished the last strap and lifted the gorget away from his neck. 

“Why did you come here?” It was spoken too soft to be accusatory, but the words felt like they were designed perfectly to tear away his cool exterior. She always did have a way of getting under his skin to the core of him. 

“It was the right thing to do,” It wasn’t a lie. 

“No,” She said simply. The word sliced through him, soft though it was. “You are not a fool, you know the presence of one man will not tip the balance, skilled though you are. And honour bound you to follow Cersei’s orders, to stay in Kings Landing. So why are you here?”

There was a moment where he wasn’t sure he could answer her, but her eyes locked on his and he knew he could never keep anything from her. 

“I couldn’t bear to lose you,” It was barely above a whisper, the words felt as though he were giving up something precious, an offering perhaps. 

“Why?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“You know why.” 

His soul dangled delicately, precariously between them, bared raw for her in a way he had never known possible. His lungs refused to disturb the fragile air between them. 

The firelight danced softly across her features, reflecting bright in her eyes, not leaving his. Jaime didn’t think he could look away from her in that moment if his life depended on it. Her eyes flicked away from his and down to his mouth, and for the very briefest moment, he knew what she was about to do before she knew herself, and when she jolted forwards he met her halfway, crashing their lips together. 

She brought both hands up to cup the sides of his neck, holding him in place as his left came up to touch her cheek, her neck, tangle in her hair, wanting to touch as much of her as he could, to pull her closer. She trailed a hand down to sit on his chest, and he wrapped his right arm around her waist to pull her closer. 

There was years behind the kiss. Years of want, of longing, of protecting each other at all costs and never expecting anything in return. All the times they’d said goodbye for the last time, all the times they’d met again against all odds. 

The frenzied, desperate kiss slowed into something so sweet it was as if Brienne had reached right inside Jaime’s ribcage and was cradling his heart in her hand. 

When they finally broke apart for air they rested their foreheads together, lips just barely brushing. 

“If we die tonight,” Jaime murmured against her.

“We won’t.”

“If we do-”

“I won’t let you.” Her voice was resolute and left no room for arguing. He smiled sadly, thumb catching a rogue tear as it slipped from her eye and brushing it away. 

“You are the very best of us,” He said it like a prayer. 

“Stay with me tonight,” She sounded as if she was unsure she was allowed to ask. 

“Of course,” His lips caught against hers as he spoke, and he captured them again softly, unable to resist. 

They slept in their clothes, for the horns signifying the impending army of the dead could sound at any moment. Jaime curled himself tightly around Brienne’s back, left arm curled protectively around her waist. She held his hand in hers and pressed a delicate kiss to the palm of it. 

He wasn’t sure either of them slept, the comfort of each others arms so juxtaposed with the fear for what was to come. When the horns sounded Jaime squeezed the arm around her tighter, wanting to hold her for just a moment more before she was ripped away from him by battle. He kissed the base of her neck and they unwound themselves from each other. 

They made quick work of each others armour in silence and slipped out into the frigid night, the cold air biting at their skin after the warmth of the furs they had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me prying jaimes s8 characterisation from d&ds cold dead hands: Thank You For This It Is Going In The Bin
> 
> This is going to roughly follow s8’s storyline but add in a lot of the missing braime we never got to see and hopefully fix some of the mess d&d made


	2. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Winterfell from Jaime's perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly just a plot chapter following the show's canon to get us to the next point in the story, I hope that doesn't make it too boring though.

They bumped into Podrick on his way to Brienne’s chambers, he glanced quickly between them both but if he had any thoughts on what had just passed, his face did not give them away.

The tension amongst the army was palpable when they stood waiting, staring into the blackness of the unknown. However awful the wights were to look upon, Jaime knew that not being able to see them in this moment was infinitely worse. He was amazed at Brienne's ability to keep her men under control then, when he knew they all wanted nothing more than to bolt. 

And then in an instant, the battle was upon them. 

Jaime had fought in battles almost his entire life. This was not like any of those. Never had he experienced such intense fear, gripping at his chest with an iron fist. The dead do not fight like the living, they have no regard for their own wellness in a way a soldier would attempt to parry and dodge blows. The dead swarm on top of you, and if you cut five down, another ten are on you in seconds. At times it felt less like fighting and more like drowning under a sea of undead bodies attempting to drag you down and rip you apart. All Jaime could do was keep slashing and stabbing and pray he would not be overcome.

The air had turned to ice, dragging in and out of his throat like knives, making it all the harder to fight. Jaime stuck to Brienne’s side like glue as far as the battle would allow. He was grateful that she was a loud warrior; even when his back was to her he could hear her battle cries and knew that at least in that second she was still alive, even if there was no assurance for the next. Podrick stuck close to them too, for which Jaime was thankful.

At one point he had spotted Brienne go down, overwhelmed with wights and terror closed a hand around his throat. He slashed and stabbed his way to her, and offered her his right wrist to heave herself up when the undead atop her were dead once more.

They fought back to back at one point, their fighting styles so complimentary and their trust in each other absolute. The twin swords protected each other with each slash but the dead pressed on, and the the three of them found themselves on a ledge, backs pressed against the wall and using the vantage to slice the hoards back, for all the good that would do. Brienne was at Jaime’s right side, Podrick at his left.

He’d always said he wanted to die in the arms of the woman he loved, and maybe this wasn’t quite that but he was going to die next to her, so maybe it was enough.

Just when he thought he may not be able to swing his sword for another blow, there was a horrible shrieking noise that echoed about Winterfell, accompanied by a sound that could be the entire world shattering beneath their feet, and every single last body in the army of the dead dropped to the floor.

The silence that followed rang in Jaime’s ears, the horrible snarling and screeching replaced with the sound of his own heartbeat thundering through his veins.

They were alive.

Jaime’s knees gave out and he slumped to the ground. Loud thuds from either side of him confirmed that Brienne and Podrick had done the same. Jaime looked to Brienne, needing visual confirmation she was okay. She locked eyes with him and nodded, chest heaving with exhaustion. He desperately wanted to take her hand, to have some physical reassurance she was there and she was alive, but she was on his right. He reached out his arm anyway and Brienne, understanding, grasped his wrist in her hand, grounding him. She tipped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, fingers slack with exhaustion.

Jaime turned to Podrick and with the last of his strength raised his left hand to grip his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly for a moment before dropping it like a lead weight. Podrick let out a weak smile.

 

Jaime didn’t know how long they sat there, only that the sun was slowly creeping over the horizon before they mustered the strength to stand.

“Are you hurt?” Brienne asked Podrick, who shook his head. “And you?” Her eyes fell on Jaime.

“Nothing serious,” He tried for lighthearted but the exhaustion in his voice made it fall flat. “What about you?” He eyed the nasty gash by her hairline, trickling blood down the side of her face.

“Superficial,” She said, waving him off.

“Let’s get cleaned up, I want to look at that cut.” Brienne didn’t protest thankfully, both of them too exhausted to bicker. They started making their way back to the castle, trying not to think about the heaps of dead bodies they were climbing over.

Jaime wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and pass out like this, but he knew that if they didn’t wash and tend their wounds first they were leaving themselves wide open for infection, so they trudged to the great hall where a temporary infirmary had been set up. Inside was a flurry of movement and cries of pain from the more severely wounded. All the women who had been safe in the crypts were busy tending injured soldiers so once they’d washed, Jaime, Brienne, and Podrick tended to themselves.

“You fought well,” Brienne said, bandaging Podrick’s shoulder tightly, “I’m proud of you.”

Podrick looked near ready to pass out, but seemed to glow at the compliment.

“Thank you m’lady.” He said, eyes drifting shut. Brienne shot Jaime a look that was half annoyance at the title and half amusement.

“C’mon Pod, off to bed,” Jaime said, taking pity on the boy and heaving him to his feet.

“No, I need to tend to m’lady’s wounds. Ser’s.” He said, tripping over his words.

“You need to sleep. We’ll manage on our own.”

Podrick glanced between the two knights and conceded finally, wishing them a good night, even though the sun was steadily beating through the windows by now.

Brienne bound Jaime’s twisted knee, and he her sprained wrist, and cleaned the cut on her forehead which was thankfully shallow and not as bad as he had feared.

Brienne had wanted to stay and help the injured until Jaime practically forced her to go to bed too, telling her she was no use to anyone as drained as she was. As much as he longed to follow her to her chambers, to hold her close to him as a steady reminder she was alive, he retired to his own bed. The memory of the previous night was burned bright into his brain, but people did foolish things when they thought they were about to die. If this had been that to Brienne -

Jaime was no man of honour, and she deserved so much more than him. Perhaps he had been foolish to bare himself to her that way. Perhaps she really did love him, despite all the pain that decision would bring her. Exhaustion clouded Jaime’s mind, ricocheting the thoughts around his head. No, for tonight he would sleep alone, they could work out the rest when they woke. He collapsed into the furs on his bed and was asleep almost before he had time to draw them about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is mostly written so should be up in a few days. Thank you all for the wonderful comments on the last chapter, it really meant so much to me and motivated me a lot to keep writing this


	3. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after the battle

Widow’s Wail slashed madly in wide arcs around him, cutting down the wights tearing at his flesh. He could hear Brienne’s shrieks behind him, terrible things that echoed through his head, but he could not turn to see her. Suddenly the dead around him dropped and he spotted her, broken and lifeless on the floor amongst the bodies, blood stained dark against her too pale skin. He tried to reach her but the corpses he climbed over were slippery and he kept falling.

He wailed, his throat raw and bleeding, hands and feet scrabbling desperately for purchase over the stinking twisted bodies. Her eyes flicked open, and though he was still too far to reach her, he could see that they were sharp, icy blue, reflecting in the dim light like cat’s eyes. The blood drained from Jaime’s face. His insides turned to ice. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from the horrible image before him. She stood, staring at him, face blank in a way he’d never seen it before, almost unrecognisable for it. He wanted to be sick.

“Please, not you. I can’t- anyone but you,” He begged half incoherent as she stalked forwards, her footing sure and unconcerned by the corpses in her path. He wouldn’t kill her, he would never be able to do that, would rather die right here than plunge her sword’s twin through her chest.

But she didn’t kill him, stopping just feet in front of him. Her head turned slowly, there was no humanity in the movement. He followed her focus and there was Podrick, injured and unable to fight, half sprawled on the ground clutching his bloody sword arm.

“Brienne, no, please!” He yelled, tripping over bodies as he followed her. She was almost upon the boy when Jaime knew he had no choice, and he plunged Widow’s Wail into her back.

The howling winds and snarling wights around them dissolved away and all Jaime could hear were the thick, wet gasps Brienne let out as she fell to her knees. He caught her and turned her in his arms. Her eyes weren’t icy and inhuman, but their usual sapphire blue, speckled with the faintest ring of green around the iris. Eyes he had looked into a thousand times.

Her lips were stained red as if she’d been drinking wine, but when she coughed wetly, blood poured from her mouth, dripping down her cheeks as she shuddered and gasped for air.

“No,” He said weakly, cupping her face in his hands. Both hands. Odd.

Terror filled Brienne’s eyes as tears slid down her cheekbones to join the blood painting her pale skin.

“Stay with me. You’re not dying, you can’t.” Jaime’s voice was utterly wrecked.

Brienne’s eyes slipped away from his, her face going slack. The sluggish pulse beneath his fingers slowed and died.

Jaime let out a broken sob and pressed his forehead to hers, rocking her broken body against him and pleading nonsensically to her, to whatever gods may be listening. His tears made her skin wet and slippery and he thought he might pass out from the pain of it in his chest.

When Jaime awoke his arms were curled around his own torso, his face wet and his throat raw.

He pushed himself upright, pulse racing and panting harshly as he looked around the room frantically. There were no wights to be seen, no distant screams of horror, just cold afternoon light streaming through the window and chilly air enveloping him, reminding him of the fire he had forgotten to light when he’d stumbled in.

Gods, he hoped no one had heard him cry out.

It was a nightmare, he knew it was a nightmare, but that didn’t stop him from shoving his clothes on as fast as his one hand, numb from the cold, could manage, and all but sprinting from his room.

The frigid air outside hit him like a slap, shocking him back to his senses. He realised he didn’t really have any plan, was he going to barge straight into Brienne’s chambers, wake her and explain he’d had a nightmare? He hesitated for a moment, before correcting his path and steering himself towards the great hall, slowing his pace and taking deep breaths of the freezing air to try and calm himself. His stomach growled painfully in agreement and he realised it had been at least a day since he’d last eaten.

He rounded the corner into the hall and almost choked on air as he caught sight of a mop of blonde hair in the far corner. Brienne was sat quietly by herself eating stew, eyes downcast. The room was reasonably quiet, most of the people were still asleep, though it was gone midday and the sun was high in the sky. Jaime heaved a shaky sigh of relief, mentally chastising himself for his irrationality, and forced himself not to make a fool of himself by sprinting across the room to her.

Brienne appeared distracted and she only looked up when Jaime pulled out the seat opposite her.

“Ser Jaime,” She nodded her head.

“Ser Brienne,” Oh he loved calling her that, her eyes softened around the corners every time, and if he was lucky he would earn an upward twitch of her lip.

“Are you feeling alright? You look shaken, though I supposed that’s expected given the night we had,” She studied his face, searching for any signs he had an injury he’d brushed off the night before.

“I’m well, I just ... couldn’t sleep. Had a nightmare.” Damn, he would never be able to keep a thing from this woman. She regarded him with soft eyes.

“Me too,” She admitted. Before he could stop himself, he reached and squeezed her wrist, as much for his own reassurance as for hers. Her features softened and something swelled in Jaime’s chest. He pushed it down.

 

Slowly the halls of Winterfell came back to life as tired and battered men and women emerged from their rooms. The injured were tended and the dead placed in funeral pyres. Jaime, Brienne, and Podrick stood together and watched as the pyres were lit. It struck Jaime just how lucky they were. Granted he was an outsider in Winterfell, and there were not many here he cared for, but none of the people he or Brienne held close had fallen during the battle. Even so, the people here had lost so much Jaime’s heart hung heavy in his chest. He wanted to reach out and take Brienne’s hand, but he wasn’t sure it would be welcome, and however much a comfort it may be, it would not be appropriate. So his hands hung limply at his sides as the smoke rose lazily into the air, the howling winds from the night before absent now to carry it away.

Dinner in the great hall started as a rather somber affair. The weight of those they had just burned hung heavy in the air. But then Queen Daenerys made Gendry lord of Storm’s End, and toasted Arya as the hero of Winterfell, and the tone picked up. The plates were cleared away and more wine brought out.

Podrick went to refill Brienne’s cup, but Brienne placed a hand over it and shook her head. Anticipating the movement, watching Brienne closely as he was, Jaime’s hand landed on hers just a moment after it hit the rim of the cup. It rested there for a second, before he lifted it away.

“You’ve fought dead things and lived to talk about it, if this isn’t the time to drink, when is?” He thought for a second she might refuse the cup he poured her, but when he raised his own to her in toast she followed suit, watching him closely as they drank.

“I think,” Tyrion’s voice suddenly appeared at Jaime’s side, “we should play a game. A drinking game of course,”

Brienne began to protest but Jaime shot her a look, eyebrow raised and she conceded. It was a game Tyrion had favoured for a long time, merging his two greatest interests; getting information out of people, and drinking. It was always good fun though so Jaime joined in enthusiastically in explaining the rules to Brienne and Podrick.

By the time they were two flagons of wine down between them, Brienne was laughing and smiling more freely than Jaime had ever witnessed, and he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her to keep up with the game.

“You once lost a fight to Ser Brienne when you had both your hands,” Podrick said gleefully.

“They were tied together! It was hardly a fair fight,” He cried indignantly, but lifted the cup to his lips, a smile dancing playfully around his eyes as he watched Brienne watch him drink.

“My turn,” He turned to Brienne, “you’re afraid of spiders,”

“No! Drink,”

“Snakes?”

“You can’t ask follow up questions!”

“She is!” Podrick said, then ducked when Brienne swatted at his head.

“Doesn’t count, you were still wrong, drink!” Brienne’s eyes were full of laughter when Jaime drank deeply from his cup, as if to prove a point that he was a good sport.

“You didn’t spend the night before the battle in your own bed.”

Jaime spluttered on his wine and his head whipped up. But Tyrion was staring at Podrick who flushed and drank, eyes locked on the table. Jaime deflated in his seat, and forced a smile at Pod’s embarrassment. He flicked his gaze to Brienne, who looked equally startled. He moved his foot, pressing their ankles together under the table and her eyes met his for a moment, warm and happy. Gods, what he wouldn’t do to see that smile every day for the rest of his life.

By the end of the night they were all merrily drunk, and knew maybe too much about each other. At some point, Tyrion stumbled off to fetch more wine and never returned, and Podrick got distracted by some girl and disappeared off with her, so Jaime was left alone with Brienne, who was still smiling and laughing so freely it made his chest ache.

“I should go- go to bed,” She slurred eventually, when the crowd in the hall had begun to thin slightly.

“Allow me to escort you, m’lady ser,” She mock glared at him for the ridiculous nickname and he cocked an eyebrow, standing and offering his hand to her, bowing deeply and only stumbling a little. She laughed and swatted the hand away.

“I’m not that drunk,” She said indignantly.

“Maybe it was for me,” Jaime said, only half mocking as he leant against the table for support.

Jaime spotted Tyrion talking with Ser Davos as they left together, and Tyrion gave him an infuriatingly knowing look, cocking his head towards Brienne. Jaime glared at him lightheartedly and hurried to catch back up to her.

He cursed when the freezing night air hit them as they stepped into the courtyard.

“Gods, I hate the fucking north.” Brienne laughed at him and moved closer, looping her arm through his as if that would keep them both warmer.

“Stop dawdling then,” Her nose and cheeks were already pink from the cold, and maybe some from the wine too. He realised he’d staring when he stumbled on an uneven cobblestone. Brienne dragged him back upright before he could fall.

“See, I told you the hand was for me,” She just rolled her eyes at him and bundled him inside.

The corridor wasn’t much warmer than the courtyard, but a maid walked past with a tray of jugs of wine so he snagged one, flashing her a winning smile as he did so. He practically barged his way into Brienne’s chambers behind her, barely waiting for her to invite him in. He dumped the wine down on the table, suddenly nervous for some reason.

“Cups,” He said stupidly, Brienne just blinked at him. “You must have cups in here,”

“My chambers aren’t a store room for the kitchen, I think you’ll find,”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re the only person in Westeros that doesn’t hoard cups in their chambers?”

“I just have a competent squire who actually takes care of my room-“ She trailed off, “what are you doing?”

Jaime was clattering around her room obnoxiously while she watched him perplexedly.

“Aha!” He cried, grabbing the cup from her bedside. It was still half full of water so he drank it in one gulp then waved the cup aimlessly around. “See, I told you,”

He filled the cup clumsily, his left hand far less graceful when drunk, and took a deep drink, willing his ridiculous nerves down. When he passed the cup to Brienne she drank too, looking vaguely startled.

“You keep it warm enough in here,” He said, feeling suddenly overheated. He stripped his jacket off, moving to dump it on the bed.

“It’s the first thing I learnt when I came to the North. Keep the fire going. Every time you leave the room, put more wood on.”

“That’s very diligent. Very responsible. I’m positive it wasn’t so warm the other night though,” He laughed weakly, mouth suddenly dry at the mention of the night Jaime had spent wrapped around her.

Almost more for something to do, he started working on the shirt tie at his neck, making more excuses about the heat weakly. The tie was too tight though and he couldn’t get enough purchase on it to undo it. Damn he missed having servants in Kings Landing to help him dress and undress. He bit at the knot somewhat desperately, wondering why he’d even chosen to take his shirt off in the first place, but committed to it now.

“Oh, move aside,” Brienne said suddenly, knocking his hand out the way. She pulled him round to face her by the shirt collar and his heart leapt in his chest. Her fingers worked deftly at the knot and almost unthinkingly, Jaime’s rose to her own shirt ties.

“What are you doing?” She said instantly, freezing.

“Taking your shirt off,” His voice came out a gravelly whisper, he wasn’t sure what he was doing in all honesty.

She pushed his hand away and he started to move backwards, an apology already forming in his throat, but then her hands started moving again, undoing the ties at her neck and working their way down her chest. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face, drinking in the sight of her. Her eye was purple with bruising and the cut by her hairline looked painful, but in the soft glow of the fire Jaime was sure he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

She grasped his shirt, untucking it from his trousers, and he had a moment of confusion where he forgot that his goal had been taking his own shirt off, so distracted by her. She pulled the shirt up and he lifted his arms to help her, letting her take the lead entirely. She slipped her own shirt off her shoulders and he swallowed. They looked at each other for a moment, and Jaime drank in the sight of her, her strong features almost soft in the firelight, the scar on her lip, the bruises and scrapes littering her skin. She reached down and he started, but she took his wrist in her hands, flipping it so she could work on the ties of the leather cuff strapping the golden hand to his arm. 

"You don't have to-" He said. He knew how uncomfortable the stump made Cersei, he would hate to think Brienne felt she had to help him like this, like it was the honourable thing to do. But Brienne's long fingers didn't falter in their task and she gently slid the hand off, placing it on the table. When she finally,  _finally_ met his eyes again Jaime's stomach fluttered in a way he hadn't felt since he was a boy. He swallowed again, his throat suddenly dry. 

“I’ve never slept with a knight before.” He said, barely above a whisper.

“I’ve never slept with anyone before,” Her reply was equally soft.

“I know. We don’t have to-” But before he could finish his sentence she was kissing him and he was dragging her closer, his one hand spread across her cheek and down her neck, sliding into her hair and then back to her jaw, trying to make up for its singularity by touching as much of her as he could manage. They stumbled to the bed and fell into the furs.

Jaime hovered above her, drinking the sight of her in, struggling to believe that Brienne could really want him this way, so sure she would push him away as soon as the spell was broken. His hand came up to touch her cheek, featherlight as if unsure of its welcome there. She leaned into it, her hand came up to cup it and she turned her face, pressing a kiss lightly to his palm. He watched her with utter wonder in his eyes.

“Stop overthinking,” She whispered, bringing her hands to his face and drawing him down for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tone for this chapter's all over the place sorry???????? idk what I'm doing honestly  
> I struggled with the first kiss scene so hard bc obviously they've already had their first kiss in my version, I wanted to still include the drinking game bc i thought it was a really sweet lil character moment I just hated the fucking virginity question it was dumb af, so I tried to make Jaime all nervous and dumb without that and jealousy as a motive? idk if it worked though lol, also I just straight up couldn't be bothered to write porn sorry to disappoint


	4. Settling

The first thing Brienne noticed upon waking was how wonderfully, gloriously warm her bed was. Since arriving in Winterfell she’d grown well accustomed to waking curled into herself to try and preserve body heat, the cold air biting at her skin when she slid out of bed. She sank slightly deeper into the warmed furs, savouring the feeling before at once she became aware of a presence in the bed with her.

Her eyes flicked open and she was greeted by the sight of Ser Jaime Lannister, inches from her face. He was awake, had been for a while by the looks of it. His head was propped up slightly, leaning on the wrist of his right arm, and he was gazing down at her with such softness in his eyes the breath caught in her throat.

“Good morning,” He said, so deep she felt the rumble of it in his chest almost more than she heard it, pressed close as they were.

“You stayed,” Was all she said, and the words felt clumsy in her mouth. He looked down at himself, mock incredulity playing around his brows.

“It would appear I did,” He teased lightly, but then worry creased his brow, “is that alright? I can go-“

“No!” She said, almost too fast. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here.” She flushed, not used to tripping over her words and his face cracked into a grin at the sight.

He trailed the fingers of his left hand up her arm to sit lightly on her shoulder, he watched their progress as if amazed he was able to do this. Brienne was acutely aware that they had never really touched before two nights previous. They had always kept that careful distance between them, as if one slip up could have been fatal. She supposed it could have. She couldn’t tear her eyes from his face. Jaime Lannister was in her bed, and he looked as happy and care free as she had ever seen him. He looked at her as if she were the whole world. She looked down, the intensity burning her ears.

“We should get up; Lady Sansa will be needing me,” Her voice sounded stiff and foreign in her mouth.

“I’m sure Lady Sansa can wait a little while longer. We have very pressing matters here.” He pressed forwards and she laughed, slapping at his arm in protest, but sank into the kiss. She almost got lost in it before remembering herself and pulling away, placing a hand on his chest to hold him back as he tried to follow.

“It would not do to keep the lady waiting,” She said sternly. Jaime huffed and flopped back onto his pillows, raising his hand and wrist in mock surrender but failing to keep the grin off his face.

Brienne rolled out of bed, mourning the loss of his warmth. She could feel his eyes watching her as she moved about the room, and grew suddenly self conscious despite all that had happened between them last night. She grabbed for her woollen gown and wrapped it tight about her, Jaime huffed a laugh from the bed but she didn’t grant him the satisfaction of an annoyed look over her shoulder.

She threw a few logs on the dying embers of the previous night’s fire and stoked it to life again. When she had finished with her task she looked up to find Jaime’s eyes had still not left her.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful,” He breathed. She laughed bitterly and turned back to the fire, jabbing at it pointlessly to give her something to do.

“Just because you’re not *pretty*,” He scoffed at the word, “doesn’t mean you’re not the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.” When Brienne rolled her eyes and resolutely refused to look up from the fire he pressed on, “You’re beautiful in the way a skilled sword fight is, how your breath catches and you can’t look away. You’re so strong and sure in the way you move, it’s...enchanting.”

“You would be the first to think so.”

“Well fuck anybody else.” She finally looked up at that, and his eyes were so genuine her breath caught in her throat. In the cool morning air, daylight filtering through the shuttered windows and mingling with the glow of the firelight playing about his features, she could almost believe him.

“Get up, people will wonder where we are,” She said.

“Oh, let them wonder,” He rolled onto his back, arms spread wide over the soft furs on her bed, “come back to bed.”

“Get up,” Her voice was stern but playfully so. He rolled his neck to look at her, eyes wide and sad like a puppy’s. She threw his discarded shirt at him and relished when it hit its mark, completely smothering his face. “Up! You child!”

“Yes Ser!” He said, finally rolling out of bed. He was far less bashful than her, and glanced at her sideways as he took his time about clothing himself. She dragged her eyes away from him and busied herself with her own clothes.

 

Jaime had tried to insist they should go down for breakfast one at a time to avoid any suspicion, until Brienne had pointed out they often attended breakfast together anyway so no one should suspect. Regardless, Jaime practically felt her ears burning next to him the moment they stepped into the hall together, and laughed quietly to himself. Jaime had to stop himself from taking her hand, like it would be the most natural thing in the world. How they had held off this long was a marvel.

As they approached their usual table, Tyrion caught his eye, and raised an eyebrow inquisitorially. Jaime twitched his own in return and Tyrion flashed a sly grin at him, quickly hiding it behind a goblet. Of course Tyrion would work it out immediately.

“Ser Brienne, I do believe you’re late this morning, I hope you’re not hungover after last nights festivities?” Jaime glared at Tyrion as he took his seat but Tyrion wasn’t phased.

“I am quite well, thank you,” Brienne said somewhat stiffly, though she wouldn’t meet his eye.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tyrion said warmly, “our friend Podrick here wasn’t quite so lucky.” He slapped Podrick on the back where he was slumped face down over the table. Podrick groaned and lifted his head, noticing Brienne’s arrival for the first time.

“Oh, good morning m’lady- ser,” He nodded his head at her and winced slightly. Brienne nodded at him and Jaime shot him a wry grin. Podrick dropped his head back onto the table. His own headache throbbed in sympathy but he couldn’t find it within himself to regret the previous night’s festivities.

They ate their breakfasts in relatively comfortable silence, though Tyrion kept sneaking glances between Brienne and Jaime, and Brienne resolutely refused to look at him, much to Jaime’s quiet amusement.

 

The rest of the day Brienne found herself too busy to spare a thought for the previous night. The Dragon Queen announced her intentions to march south, so despite the soldiers’ weariness, preparations had to begin right away. Brienne had been tasked with continuing the training of the Winterfell men, a tough task as these were mostly common men who had never fought before the long night and were still bruised and battered and burned out. They listened to her though, in a way that suggested they respected her. It was an odd feeling that Brienne wasn’t quite sure how to wear.

She had been worried for Jaime’s place in Winterfell now the battle was over, and though the people here were still wary of him, perhaps even more so now his purpose for being here was apparently fulfilled, he found a place by her side helping to train the fatigued men. Though perhaps not trusted, he too was more respected now than before, and the men listened gladly to guidance he gave.

 

Brienne crouched in front of her fire that evening, stacking fresh logs in an attempt to make it to burn through the night, when she heard a quiet knock on her door. It was unusual for visitors to come so late. She pulled herself up, righted her clothes (thankfully she had not got ready for bed yet), and opened the door.

Jaime stood in the doorway looking mildly sheepish. In his left hand he held a flagon, and two cups were tucked under his arm.

“I wondered if you might like some company this evening,” He said smoothly, though his eyes betrayed the nervousness burning beneath his skin. “I brought wine,” He added, almost as an afterthought.

“Of course,” Brienne said, watching him carefully as she stepped aside to allow him in.

He set the tankard down to adjust his grip and poured her a cup first, offering it to her and watching as she took a sip before he poured his own. They sat in the old wooden chairs in front of the fire, sinking into the soft furs slung over them. The conversation between them was easy, easier than it had been in a long while, but the air between them felt ripe with tension.

It had been so long since they’d been free to sit and talk like this. Maybe they never had. It came naturally though; they spoke of their childhoods, of their contrasting experiences training, of the parts of the world they had visited and the things they had seen. Jaime’s eyes were pulled to Brienne as if caught in a magnetic field. He looked utterly enraptured by her, hanging off every word that fell easily from her lips. More easily than she had ever found it with anyone else. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t on guard waiting for the rug to be pulled from under her feet, for everyone to laugh because what was she, if not an unloveable beast of a woman. No, Jaime looked at her with such fondness in his eyes her chest felt free of the weight that had sat on it her entire life.

“It’s getting late,” He said, when Brienne stifled a yawn behind her hand. “I should leave you to sleep.”

He rose, setting his cup aside. She rose too, watching him intently, steeling herself.

“You don’t need to go,” She said, so softly he may not have heard it. His eyes found hers, burning bright in the dim firelight.

“People may talk,” He said carefully, though he didn’t drop his gaze.

“I don’t care.”

He stepped forwards more slowly this time. They were not drunk and worked up tonight. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek and she leaned into the touch, breath catching in her throat.

“Brienne,” It was barely above a whisper and he savoured the word on his tongue.

He leant up on his toes and she let him come to her. This kiss was so different from yesterday’s but it stole her breath away all the same. His lips were soft and gentle, his thumb traced her strong cheekbone so delicately. She had never been treated with such gentleness as Jaime did now, and her chest ached for it. When he sank back onto his heels for balance she followed him down, bowing her head so as not to break the kiss.

He stayed that night. His lips explored her body as if mapping it out, he listened intently to every noise she made and held her hand sweetly when she came against his mouth.

 

The next night Brienne invited Jaime to join her in her chambers herself, worried he may not have been planning to come. His eyes softened at her nervousness, “Of course,” he said and squeezed her wrist, a smile dancing around his lips.

The night after that all that was needed was a look between them, and he followed her quietly to her room when she bade goodnight to their friends.

They learned each others bodies, mapping them with hands and lips and tongue. Brienne learned what it was like to sleep in another’s arms, and Jaime learned what it was like to wake up that way.

Slowly, Jaime’s belongings crept their way into Brienne’s room. His clothes, his armour, even his wash things made a home nestled alongside her own, as did he. They didn’t speak about it, but they stopped making excuses for him to retire to her room each night, it was just expected that he would. No one else mentioned it either, though Podrick still found it difficult to make eye contact with either of them early in the morning, which Tyrion found almost more entertaining than being able to tease Jaime when they were alone. Brienne was happy and at ease in a way she never knew possible, and she saw it mirrored in Jaime's eyes. 

 

Brienne was impressed with the speed at which the castle returned to normal following the battle, despite ‘normal’ not really having existed before it. They carved out a new normal, however temporary it may be. With the bodies cleared and burned, repair work was already well underway on the castle. Despite the uncertainty of the future, Brienne found herself more at peace than she could ever remember being. She thought for a moment that her childhood growing up on Tarth rivalled this, but she knew she looked back on that time with rose tinted glasses. Yes, Tarth was beautiful and peaceful and it was the only time she hadn’t been bound by honour to fight for someone, but growing up had never been easy, and she felt far more at home within the confines of her being now than she ever had growing up.

She had purpose now, and was respected for the first time in her life, not only by those close to her (and having people she could consider close was a novelty in itself) but by the men she commanded, by the women who knew how she had protected their husbands, by young children who looked up to her in awe.

“Are you a giant?” A young girl had asked her brazenly as she stood in the courtyard one afternoon, red cheeked and out of breath from sparring with Podrick, flakes of snow melting into her blonde hair. 

“No,” She’d replied a little bewildered.

“So I could grow up to be as tall as you?”

“If you’re lucky,” Jamie had appeared at her side, crouching down to the girl’s eye-level. “If you eat all your vegetables like your mother tells you,” the girl scrunched her nose up, Jaime’s laugh was a beautiful sound.

“I didn’t know girls could be knights,”

“She’s the best knight in all of Westeros,” Jaime whispered conspiratorially, craning his neck up to look at Brienne who was pretending to watch Pod instructing some men on proper footwork, and praying her flushed cheeks could be explained away by exertion.

“I want to be a knight when I grow up!”

“You’ll have to work very hard at it,” Jaime said honestly. The girl grew serious.

“I can do it,” She said.

“I believe you! Now run along,” He laughed.

Jaime stood to join Brienne, letting out a quiet grunt as his knees popped. Brienne tried to ignore the feeling in her chest she couldn’t quite explain. He was watching her sideways, looking somewhat smug, and she knew the teasing was about to start.

“Oh, don’t say it,”

“Ser Lady Brienne,” He said, sounding scandalised, “would you really think so lowly of me-“

“Yes!” He laughed warmly.

“It suits you. This place, knighthood, being respected. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you smile so much,” She ducked her head under his watchful gaze.

“I’m not sure there was ever a time in my life I truly felt as though I fitted in,” She admitted.

“These are your people,”

“My people are on Tarth, and they never accepted me for who I was,”

“Maybe that will all have changed now, though perhaps not. You fought to earn respect from these people, the men of Tarth weren’t here to witness it,”

“No,” He was still watching her intently.

“Will you go back?”

“I ... don’t know. Not soon, I wouldn’t think. My place is still by Lady Sansa’s side, but when this is all over-“ She broke off, she’d tried to avoid thinking about the future too much. It was too uncertain, too much space for pain. The moment they lived in was too sweet to burden herself with the future.

“This has all been going on so long, it’s hard to picture an end in sight,” Jaime agreed.

“When will you return?” Brienne asked toward the courtyard, too afraid Jaime would see pain behind her eyes if she were to meet his.

“I won’t,” He said simply, and Brienne’s head whipped round.

“You’re-“

“Cersei wants me dead, Brienne. I made my decision when I left King’s Landing, I’m not going back,” He said it so easily. Brienne yearned to reach out and touch him.

“Where will you go?”

“I thought I might stay here,”

“You hate the North,” Her voice was closed off, if she didn’t allow herself to hope, she couldn’t be hurt. But Jaime’s eyes were laughing, and she could feel it cracking her heart open piece by piece.

“I do,” He said rather thoughtfully. “I’m rather fond of its occupants though,” Brienne glared at him.

“The northerners hate you,”

“One of its occupants then,”

“I’ll be sure to let Podrick know how fond of him you are,”

Jaime laughed openly at that, a surprised bark of mirth that dragged a laugh from Brienne’s own lips.

“Lady Sansa has extended my welcome indefinitely,” He said softly, eyes burning into hers. She felt suddenly raw and vulnerable, and ducked her head away. He was asking her permission.

“I should get back,” She said, gesturing towards the men training, hesitating for a moment too long before striding away . He knew. He knew he would always be welcome at her side, without her having to tell him. She had not sent him away, and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cba to write porn but I need u all to know jaime goes down on his lady bc hes a gentleman and loves her
> 
> y'all know what's coming next chapter, I'm trying to do it in a way that fits with this story and with their character arcs though, and you already know this doesn't end nearly the same way the show does


	5. For Cersei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all knew it was coming, I'm sorry for this one
> 
> I reuploaded this chapter because ao3 messed up and never posted the fic in the tags so no one could see it so sorry if you get 2 emails about it lol

The bolt slammed into the wood mere inches from his head, shattering the paper thin illusion he’d been hiding behind, that he could leave Cersei and be with Brienne, that he could live a happy and full life. How foolish he was. How could he have been laughing with Tyrion just minutes ago, talking as if there weren’t a war going on, as if he were free to stay here with Brienne and be happy. As if he deserved any of that.

He walked back to the castle in somewhat of a daze after Bronn left. It had already been late when he was drinking with Tyrion, so he expected to find Brienne already asleep in bed when he returned, but instead he found her dozing lightly in the chair by the fire. The sound of the door shutting gently roused her and she looked up.

“You shouldn’t have waited up for me,” Jaime said softly.

“What’s wrong?” Brienne furrowed her brows, watching him closely. How well she knew him, to understand something was wrong just by the way he held himself. How lucky did he think he could be, to spend his life with such a woman. What had he ever done to deserve her?

“I’m fine, I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Come on, let’s go to bed,” He said, offering his hand to pull her up. She stepped closer, studying his face.

“What happened?” Jaime wouldn’t meet her eye, and began unlacing her shirt instead. “Jaime,”

When he didn’t look up she stilled his hand, covering it with her own, and brought her other to cup his cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone so gently his chest ached. He looked at her, really looked at her, and it hit him just how little time they’d had together, how little time they had left. Almost a month of stolen time was all the gods would permit him with her, it felt like a cruel joke.

“Tell me,” She murmured.

“Cersei sent Bronn to kill me,” He watched as her eyes grew scared, while her brows set in an angry line. He reached up to smooth one out with his thumb. It would not do to have her afraid for him.

“Tyrion talked him out of it. She’d promised him Riverrun so he promised him Highgarden. The fool. Course when I pointed that out Bronn nearly put a bolt through my head. Bloody bastard,”

“Jaime-“ God he hated seeing that scared expression on her face.

“I’m fine, Brienne. He’s gone,” He stroked her cheek again.

“But if Cersei wants you dead-“ He drew her close, pressed their foreheads together.

“Come to bed,” He drew back to kiss her temple.

He knew she wanted to talk about it, but he worried what she would see in his face, so when they climbed into bed he drew her down to lie on his chest.

“Tell me about Tarth,” He murmured into her hair.

“Jaime-“

“Please. I want to hear about it.”

She traced patterns on his bare chest with the pads of her fingers as she talked about her home, and though the vice around his chest never quite loosened, for now it was enough to drift off with his cheek pressed to the crown of her head, the steady beat of her heart pressed against his ribs.

 

Another week went by, Daenerys’ armies left for the south, and Jaime was almost able to put Cersei out of his mind.

Almost.

Until the raven came in, bearing the news that another of Daenerys’ dragons had fallen.

Sansa looked Jaime in the eye and told him she’d always wanted to be there when his sister was executed. How she could be so confident when the Dragon Queen was weaker now than she’d ever been.

Cersei would destroy the city. He knew it then in his bones, there was no way this war was going down without catastrophic loss of innocent life. As Brienne looked at him, worry creasing her brow, he knew he had to stop her. Knew he could never stand by while the two queens lay waste to the city, threw away hundreds of thousands of lives in their struggle for meaningless power.

He would fail. Before he even had a plan he knew this. But what was his life worth compared to a million.

He made love to Brienne slowly and deliberately that night, drinking in every inch of her, desperate to commit her body to his memory. If she saw the tears shining in his eyes she didn’t say anything.

He held her close after, wrapped around her as they had been that first night together. No war bells rang out to break them apart tonight, but her breaths slowing and evening out echoed through his body instead. Just a minute longer, he thought, throat tightening, but he knew that if he didn’t force himself to leave now he may never have the strength to.

He changed into his clothes as quietly as he could and sat at the end of the bed fastening his shoes. He glanced at Widow’s Wail hanging in its scabbard by his side of the bed. Oathkeeper was hung by the other side, deadly twins glittering in the firelight. He couldn’t take it. Wasn’t worthy to carry such a tie to Brienne after what he was about to do. It would be too painful, too heavy hanging at his hip. He left it hung there. He’d grab a castle sword on his way out.

He had a moment of vertigo where he whole life seemed to press in around him, the weight of every decision he’d ever made crushing at his lungs. *Stay* every fibre of his being cried.

He watched Brienne’s sleeping form, indulging himself for just a moment more even as his heart bled for it. It was almost too much, but he made himself stand, turn away from her and slip out the door.

The cold air hit him when he stepped outside and it helped clear his head. He worked quickly at his horse, securing the straps and buckles on the saddle, pushing his thoughts aside and letting his fingers do the work automatically.

He heard her approach him, her footsteps light against the frozen ground. He didn’t look up from the strap he was fastening clumsily, hand numb with the cold.

“They’re going to destroy that city. You know they will,” Her voice shook slightly as it cut through the quiet night.

“Have you ever run away from a fight?” He still didn’t look at her, turning his shoulder to her slightly to adjust the saddle. If he looked up his resolve might break. It was easier this way.

But then she swooped forwards, grabbing his face in her hands. She wasn’t forceful, her palms so gentle against his cheeks that his mind sputtered to a stop. Always gentler than Cersei. He looked up at her finally.

Why would she fight to keep him here after everything he’d done?

“You’re not like your sister. You’re not. You’re better than she is, you’re a good man and you can’t save her. You don’t need to die with her, stay here. Stay with me. Please. Stay,” She choked out, voice breaking. She would never let him go, he realised. He’d thought he could slip out into the night like a coward and Brienne would stay at Sansa’s side. He hadn’t expected her to beg him, tears in her eyes. Unconsciously, his thumb brushed against her wrist, wanting so desperately to comfort her.

He couldn’t let her follow him. Riding to Kings Landing was a death sentence, whether he was successful or not - and *not* seemed inevitable from every angle he approached it.

“You think I’m a good man?” He pulled her hand away from his face, mourning the loss of its warmth immediately, drawing himself up for what he was about to do. “I pushed a boy out a tower window, crippled him for life for Cersei. I beat my cousin to death just to get back to Cersei. I would have murdered every man, woman and child in Riverrun for Cersei.” The words were all true, and he hated himself for every single one. They flew like daggers from his lips, embedding themselves in her gut and tearing upwards into her chest. He felt the phantom pain of it in his own body, every inch of him screaming to stop, to gather her into his arms and never let her go. But he couldn’t. This was the only way to protect her.

“She’s hateful,” He spat, “and so am I.”

He felt something snap between them. The trust and respect, the years of camaraderie and longing, that soul deep bond between them shattered in that instant. He forced himself to turn away as a sob ripped its way from her chest. He almost didn’t have it in him to mount his horse, but somehow muscle memory alone dragged his body along.

Out of all the awful, hateful deeds he had so just conveniently listed for her, leaving her crying alone in the courtyard, wrapped in a thin woollen night gown and still warm from their bed, was the worst of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I changed the line about jaime strangling his cousin because he literally didn't even do that lmao  
> I had to watch 8x04 like 3 times for this and my god some of the writing is shoddy. This chapter could probably do with some more work (and really should be way longer) but I struggled a lot with working out the timings of stuff and how to convincingly do Jaime's arc through the chapter and seeing as we already know what happens in the episode I thought it was fine to keep it reasonably short rather than retelling the ep again  
> also I know in the ep he lost widows wail when he was captured but uhhhhhhhhh we're not doing that  
> in terms of the plot for the rest of this fic - Jaime, Brienne, and Cersei's stories are going to be completely different to the show from here on, however the politics stuff is pretty much going to stay the same because it's pretty background and I'm lazy mostly


	6. The Battle for Kings Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof this is a hefty chapter sorry, I didn't want to split it up! will I ever post a chapter /not/ at 4am? probably not

The first thing Brienne noticed upon waking was the cold. Her bones ached with it and she curled in around herself, shivering. Instinctually her hand reached out to the left side of the bed but all she was greeted by was more stiff, cold furs.

She was alone.

He was gone.

The air punched out of Brienne’s lungs. She folded in around her chest, gasping in lungfuls of frigid air and trying to fight back sobs.

He’d left her. For Cersei.

How stupid she was, to think that a man as beautiful as Jaime Lannister could love her, a big ugly brute of a woman, mannish and ungainly, when he could have Cersei Lannister, the most beautiful woman in all the seven kingdoms. It was several minutes before she managed to slow her breathing and compose herself, her ugly gasps fading away into the quiet stillness of her empty room. She shook herself down mentally. She was a knight of the seven kingdoms; she would not wallow in bed because a man left her.

Her feet hit the cold stone floor and she shivered, wishing she could wrap herself back in the furs. It was then that she realised how high in the sky the sun was; it must be almost noon. She rushed to dress and hurried out of her chambers to find Lady Sansa and apologise profusely for her lateness, throwing a log on the dying fire as she did.

_Very diligent_

 

She found the Lady in the council room, speaking with three soldiers around the maps spread across the oak table. Brienne slipped inside the doorway and stood with her head respectfully bowed, waiting for the Lady’s word.

“Leave us, please,” Sansa addressed the men. They bowed their way out and brushed past Brienne, leaving them alone. Lady Sansa was quiet, waiting for Brienne to break the silence first.

“My lady my deepest apologies, there is no excuse-“ Sansa silenced her with a wave of her hand, but she didn’t look angry, more ... sympathetic, perhaps?

“I heard about Ser Jaime’s betrayal. The guards saw him leave and spotted you in the courtyard.” She said at last. Briennes heart sank.

“You vouched for him.”

“I was a fool,” Brienne’s voice wobbled and she hung her head.

“I do not know him well, I cannot speak of his intentions in riding to Winterfell, but if his love for you was a lie then it was a very convincing one,” She sighed sadly, and stepped forwards, reaching out to take Brienne’s hands in her own. “I don’t blame you for believing him. The way he looked at you, I- I think he may have believed it too. It was the way my father used to look at my mother, and he loved her very deeply. He was truly happy with her, I think. But you must put Jaime Lannister out of your mind and move on. We cannot let the men who hurt us control our lives.” Brienne swallowed thickly around the sudden lump in her throat, all she could do was nod weakly.

“Do you know what his intentions are in leaving for King’s Landing?” She asked gently.

“I- he intends to be with Cersei,” Brienne swallowed thickly. “He has no interest in politics. I don’t know if he is riding there to save her, or because he thinks she will win and wants to be with her. But I think his motives are as simple as that. He wasn’t a part of any war councils for the move on King’s Landing, if he’d wanted to get information for Cersei he would have at least tried to join them,” Her voice didn’t waver, but she could not meet Sansa’s eye. Sansa nodded. Defending Jaime felt wrong, but she wouldn’t lie. He had known his presence in those meetings would neither be welcome nor helpful, so had simply avoided them. He’d not asked any questions of Brienne either. As much as she hated him right now, he had not been spying for Cersei. He simply loved her more than he loved Brienne.

“As much as I want to tell you to take today for yourself, I am afraid I have yet more to ask of you,”

“Anything, my lady,” Sansa dropped Brienne’s hands and turned back to the maps on the table.

“Arya has not been seen for two days, her belongings are gone and her horse is missing. I believe she has also left for Kings Landing,”

“Why would she do that?”

“She has a list; people she wants to kill. Cersei was the last one on that list, apparently she’s fool enough to go all the way to Kings Landing to do it herself rather than let Daenerys do it for her,”

“You want me to ride after her and stop her?” Sansa’s eyes met hers, a smile peeking through.

“I don’t think anyone could stop Arya once she’s set her mind to something. Protect her though, please. I can’t lose any more family,”

“My Lady, I’m sworn to protect you,”

“You’re sworn to protect us both, and I’m as safe here as I can be. The Dragon Queen and her armies are gone. I have guards. Arya doesn’t have anyone, not that she really needs protection but I would feel a lot better if I knew she had you,”

“Of course My Lady. I’ll make preparations to leave tomorrow at first light,”

“Thank you, Brienne. I do fear she has rather a head start on you though,”

“I’ll have Podrick prepare my horse and will be ready to leave in a few hours,”

“Thank you, Ser Brienne. For everything. Bring her home safely.”

“I will.”

 

Podrick was rather angrier than Brienne had been expecting when she found him. He was hacking a training dummy, grunting furiously with each strike. He didn’t even notice Brienne approach for several moments.

“Watch your back foot position,” She said evenly, surveying the stuffing scattered around the base of the dummy.

“Ser Lady Brienne,” Podrick said, dropping the sword to his side.

“I take it you’ve heard the news of Ser Jaime’s departure,” She said stiffly, not meeting Pod’s eyes. She didn’t want to see the hurt for her there.

“I did,” It sounded like he wanted to say more on the matter but was restraining himself. She was glad for it.

“Pack my horse, I’m leaving for Kings Landing in two hours. And before you say it, this has nothing to do with him. I’m to track Arya Stark down. She intends to kill the queen, I can’t stop her but I will protect her. You’re to stay here and guard Lady Sansa in my stead.”

“Which queen?” Podrick asked hesitantly. Brienne grit her teeth.

“Queen Cersei.” The words felt like acid in her mouth. Podrick ducked his head awkwardly and bowed out to see to her horse.

 

Riding was good. It was calming to feel the frigid air slapping against her face. The constant movement of the horse beneath her kept her thoughts moving too; she would not allow herself to dwell and wallow. Every time she tried to rationalise Jaime’s actions, come up with a reason for him leaving her that wasn’t terrible, she pushed the thought away. He made his decision. She wouldn’t defend him even in her own mind.

Podrick had seethed quietly while readying her horse, but hadn’t attempted to engage her in conversation, knowing it’s not what she had wanted. Brienne was almost touched by his foul mood; she’d had no idea just how protective the boy had grown of her. It was odd saying goodbye, he’d always shadowed her everywhere, but as safe as Sansa insisted she was, Brienne had steadfastly refused to leave her without extra protection. He was more use in Winterfell in any case, a better fighter now than almost any in the northern army. She should have knighted him, she realised belatedly, after the battle of Winterfell. She supposed she would have to make sure to survive now, so she would be able to do so when she returned.

She rode hard, taking minimal rest breaks throughout the days and only stopping at inns when she had to. It was frustrating knowing that no matter how fast she rode, Arya was likely faster, and there was a good chance she wouldn’t catch up to her before they hit King’s Landing.

Worse was the constant awareness at the back of her mind that she must only be a day’s ride behind Jaime. Every inn she stopped at she caught herself on edge, waiting to spot a flash of gold. Though Jaime had probably covered his hand up to travel the King’s Road, so she wouldn’t see it anyway. An irrational part of her wanted to slow her progress just to make sure she wouldn’t catch up to him, but she stopped that thought in its tracks and cast it aside. She refused to allow his absence to continue to affect her this way, she wouldn’t let him fester in her thoughts the way he’d allowed Cersei to fester in his.

 

. . .

 

Jaime was almost too late. Daenerys’ army was at the front gates. Had he been just a few hours faster maybe he’d stand a chance. If he hadn’t indulged himself with that last, glorious night with Brienne, had left as soon as he’d heard the news - no. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.

He slipped from his snowy white steed, not bothering to tie it up - it wouldn’t survive the coming battle if he did - and regardless, he likely wouldn’t need it again. He entered the city through one of the many concealed side entrances, invisible to the Dragon Queen’s armies.

Inside the walls of the city were chaos. The guards had shut the gates to the red keep and the people rioted in the streets, desperate to be let to safety. Jaime pitied them. Whether they were protected by one more wall wouldn’t matter if a dragon tore through the city. He fought against the current of the crowd, winding his way through alleys and passages to another concealed entrance. Finally, sweating and out of breath despite the cold, he made it to the Red Keep.

Once he was inside he didn’t falter, his feet pounding out a steady rhythm on the flagstones. The Mountain was stood at the door when he reached it, but when he didn’t immediately draw his sword Jaime knew he never would. He ignored him and marched straight past.

And there she was. Back ramrod straight, arms placed elegantly to either side. Cersei sat on the iron throne. Where she intended to die.

His steps did falter then; seeing her again after so long always slammed his reality to a halt for a moment. She was beautiful as always of course, though the coldness behind her eyes that had been ever present since Tommen died - perhaps even before then - burned darker now than ever.

His eyes drifted down to her stomach, and he should have known. Of course he should have known.

“It was a lie?” He didn’t mean to say it, certainly didn’t mean to let it come out sounding so pathetically small.

“No. I lost it,” There was hurt behind her eyes, but she almost relished the words, knowing how they twisted in Jaime’s gut like a knife. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, took a deep breath, steeled himself.

“You have to surrender the city,” He said.

“And why should I?” The battle was already lost, he knew it. No one, not even Jaime, could convince Cersei of a single thing when she used that tone of voice. Her mind was set. She was ready to burn.

“Because half a million men, women, and children will die if you don’t,”

“And why should I care about them?”

“Why should- these are innocent people! Innocent lives lost because you want to pretend you still have any power here! Daenerys is going to win. Either you surrender the throne to her and save the city, or she’ll burn the city and take it anyway,”

“Then let her burn me to her precious throne. Let my body melt into the metal so she can never sit on it without me here too, I will haunt her until the day she dies, stabbed in the back by the next person who realises the Targaryens are all fucking mad.”

Jaime could only stare at her, this twisted, bitter woman who he’d once loved so dearly. He searched himself for even a glimmer of that love, but all he found was coldness.

“Then die in your fucking throne,” He growled, turning away from her.

“You’re going to leave me?” There was an edge of panic to the anger in her voice. “You rode all this way, I assume either to be with me or to kill me, which is it?”

“I’m not going to kill you. But I’m not going to stand by your side and do nothing as you let the city burn.”

“Coward!” She yelled.

“No Cersei,” he said it quietly, but his voice carried in the great, empty hall, “if you choose to die here, dooming Kings Landing to burn, you die here alone. You’ve done this to yourself.”

He thought he saw a flash of desperation in her eyes for a moment before they hardened, leaving only pure hatred.

“Go then, go and be with your ugly whore. Or burn with the rest of them, see if I care,” the words dripped with venom. She could never kill him, as he could never kill her, but jaime knew in that instant that she truly wished she could.

He doesn’t see the tears of hatred and anger that she refused to let spill from her eyes.

He didn’t look back as he left.

 

The city was on fire.

He could see great black plumes of smoke in the distance, hear echoed screaming and swords clashing. He could see a dark shadow moving through the sky. The dragon wasn’t breathing any fire now but he knew Daenerys was only biding her time. Jaime had never felt more utterly useless. He was going to die. They were _all_ going to die because two mad queens cared more about the illusion of power than for the lives of the innocent.

The bells.

Tyrion had told him before they’d left, Daenerys would call off the attack if the bells sounded in surrender.

He took off running, shoving people out of the way bodily in his haste. He knocked a young girl right over and she hit the ground hard, but he didn’t have time to pick her up and apologise. _I’m trying to save your life_ he wanted to shout over his shoulder as he heard her cries, but instead he pressed on.

His legs burned as he weaved through the crowd, his breath tearing in and out of his chest like a hot knife. By the time he reached the bell tower he realised the city had gone eerily quiet and still, like the city itself was holding its breath. He hesitated, looking around to try to see what was happening, but they were too far from the fighting here to see. Then he spotted it; he could just make out Daenerys sat atop her dragon, staring toward the Red Keep.

She was waiting.

He had to act now.

He flung himself into the tower and grabbed the rope connected to the bell. He unwound it from the metal hook in the wall and threw his whole body weight into pulling it downwards. The rope shot back up again, tearing at the skin on his palm until he remembered to let it go, grabbing the end of it to yank it back. The deep clanging rang out across the city, echoing in the quiet. Blood rushed in Jaime’s ears, his hand burned and sweat poured down his back as he pulled and pulled, muttering a jumbled prayer to the Seven.

There was a moment where he thought it had worked. But then there was a terrible shrieking sound, and the sky erupted.

Jaime stumbled outside and looked up. The dragon wasn’t flying directly for the Red Keep, it was zigzagging through the streets, targeting the most populated areas, chasing down the innocent men, women, and children who lived there. He felt sick.

He stood rooted to the spot unable to process what he was seeing, until a heavy blow knocked him forwards. The man who’d crashed into him didn’t even spare a glance as he ran. Jaime became aware of the throngs of people who were moving again, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the great monster burning their city as they could.

He didn’t stop to think, he just ran.

He ran and he ran and he ran.

The dragon didn’t care who he was. The people around him didn’t care who he was. Why should it fucking matter who he was? That he had any small part to play in this. They were all just bodies, desperately fleeing certain death. Herded by the fire into a mindless stampede, scattering down alleyways in their futile attempt to escape their fate.

A building exploded to Jaime’s left and he was thrown through the air, pain exploding down his right arm as splintered stone collided with him. He landed hard, his head slamming into the ground, the skin on his legs tearing against jagged rock. Black spots burst in his vision, and he choked on the dust in the air, but he pushed himself to his feet and kept moving.

Nothing mattered anymore except that he _keep moving._

He tried to drag a small child, scared and alone, to safety, but safety didn't exist and he lost his grip on its arm for a moment and it was gone, lost in the crowd somehow.

He tripped on something, and when he looked back it was the twisted and burned body of an old man, lying dead in the street.

He watched a whole family snatched away in an instant by flames from the heavens.

He could have been running for hours, it could have been minutes. He wasn’t even sure why he was running anymore, only that he couldn’t stop. This time when the world exploded around him, it went dark, and he didn’t get back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slinks away into the shadows* listen if u wanna yell @ me in the comments I accept that tbh


	7. Brienne.

Brienne had been so _close_ to Kings Landing when it happened. She saw the smoke first, thick black and billowing into the sky, cloaking the city in darkness. She kicked her horse to a gallop and soon her ears were met with the same horrible shrieking cries as when Daenerys’ dragons had been burning dead men. It was innocents she was slaughtering now though. She could hear the screams of five hundred thousand people dying, over the sound of her own heartbeat pulsing in her ears as she urged the horse faster still. What for? What good was she against a dragon?

Flames still licked at the walls, painting them swarthy when she was close enough to see the damage hours later.

And gods, the damage.

The heat radiating from the scorched buildings made Brienne’s eyes water, and the dust still falling caught in her throat uncomfortably as she walked through the ravaged streets of the once great city. There wasn’t a brick left untouched by destruction. Bodies, blackened and brittle were strewn about the streets, so unrecognisably human, one could forget only hours ago these were people with their whole lives stretched out in front of them. The crunch of rubble beneath her feet seemed to echo through the waste around her. Distant screams and sobs were muffled by the rushing in her ears.

She pressed on, though it seemed pointless. What could she possibly hope to find in wake of such destruction? What help could she possibly offer? This was truly the end of the world.

And then, through the shimmering heat, she saw something that made her heart plummet. A glint of gold, half concealed by rubble. She didn’t feel her feet moving, but at once she was there, her knees hitting the uneven ground hard without even registering the pain.

She heaved the broken bricks aside, and there, torn apart and half crushed, was the mutilated golden hand of Jaime Lannister. A sound half sob, half wail, tore itself unbridled from her chest. Her hands shook so much she could hardly hold the crushed metal, her thumb shakily tracing the length of the twisted forefinger. Her eyes stung harshly as tears cut through the dust on her face.

She never said goodbye.

She had never told him she loved him.

She would never watch his hair turn grey, and count the wrinkles as they sunk into his skin. Never see his eyes light up and hear his laugh, happy and carefree. Never raise their children together in a world they’d fought so hard to better.

She knew she should compose herself like a proper knight, drop the hand and continue searching for survivors, but her grief lashed her down, choking her from the inside out until it was all that she was, utterly consumed by it.

She began heaving the bricks aside, single minded in her task. She had to reach him. Had to hold him. Had to see him so she would know for sure.

A figure a hundred feet away staggered round a corner, leaning heavily against the wall to keep itself upright. One of the thousands whose life had been ripped apart by the dragon queen’s evil.

But the figure stared at her, pushed itself upright.

“Brienne?”

The word was soft and disbelieving, but rang out clear and true in the thick quiet of the ravaged city.

Brienne lifted her head in a daze, breath catching in her throat, tears still burning down her face.

But there he was, covered head to toe in ash and blood, only some of which seemed to belong to him.

But alive.

He was alive.

Brienne was on her feet and moving towards him, golden hand forgotten on the street behind her. He staggered forwards to meet her, hand coming up to cup her face as they crashed into one another, foreheads pressing together. Brienne’s hands twisted in the front of his shirt, as if he would disappear should she let go. He was solid and warm against her, their breath mingling hotly between them

“Brienne,” He said again, like the word was tethering him to reality.

“I’m here,” She whispered, voice too unstable to talk, her hand coming up to cup his neck, to draw him even closer.

“I couldn’t stop her,” Jaime choked, though it was unclear if he meant Cersei or Daenerys.

“No one could have,”

“I rang the bells, I swear, I rang them. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Brienne-” He wasn’t talking about Kings Landing anymore. He pulled back ever so slightly to drink in the sight of her, his eyes shining bright. She shook her head, tears still cascading down her cheeks hot and heavy. He wiped one away with his thumb, smearing grime and blood across her pale skin.

She couldn’t speak, there weren’t words to express what she needed to, so she tilted her head and pressed her lips to his, and for a moment they were all that existed in the world. His beard was matted with blood and ash and his lips were cracked and bleeding, but gods, it was the only thing she needed right now. She needed this more than she needed air.

When they broke apart he looked at her as if he still couldn’t believe she was real, that he was alive and she was here, in his arms.

“Come,” She said at last, drawing herself up, “we need to get away from here. Are you hurt?”

“Not badly,” He said, but staggered when he tried to take a step. She wrapped his left arm around her shoulder - she would rather leave his sword hand free but his right arm was cradled against his body awkwardly - and helped him back down the road towards the crumbled gates of Kings Landing.

They were almost out of the city when they spotted the short stature and awkward gait of Tyrion Lannister, apart from the rest of the search party and walking in the direction of the red keep, feet heavy with grief.

“Tyrion!” Jaime shouted out, his voice sounded weak and breathless. Tyrion stopped in his tracks and turned, disbelief etched on his face. Jaime slid out of Brienne’s support and went to him, dropping hard to his knees in front of him to embrace him fiercely. Brienne watched how he sagged into the hug with increasing worry. There was blood matted in the back of his hair and his breeches were torn from just above the knee to the top of his boot, the fabric dark and stiff with dried blood.

“I was so sure you were dead,” Tyrion gasped when they broke apart.

“I rang the bells, Cersei never would so I went to the bell tower and rang them myself, but Daenerys-“

“I know, I heard them. I’m sorry. I trusted her, I _helped_ her. She promised if the bells rang-”

Jaime shook his head, “We are all at fault.”

Tyrion took a deep breath. “Our sister?”

“She intended to die on the iron throne. I have no idea if she accomplished it.”

Tyrion nodded gravely. He bore no love for their sister, but the reality still hit hard, especially in wake of such atrocity.

“You must leave.” Tyrion said. “You have survived this, there is no point in you dying needlessly here, and as long as Daenerys lives and knows you survive she will hunt you down.”

“Come with us,” Jaime said, though he knew it was impossible. Tyrion shook his head.

“I played a part in this. And maybe I still have a part to play in taking her down. I have to stay.”

Jaime hung his head, but said, “Do try not to die, won’t you?”

Tyrion huffed a bitter laugh. “I’m not sure my usual tactics for that will work anymore.”

Jaime clapped a hand on the back of Tyrians neck and drew him in to press their foreheads together briefly. Jaime reached backwards and in an instant Brienne was there to help him painfully to his feet.

“Take the King’s road. All of Daenerys’ men are already here, Sansa is already pledged to her, she has no reason to travel north now.”

“I hope to see you again,” Jaime said, for lack of anything better to say in the wake of such tragedy. Tyrion bowed his head.

“And I you, dear brother. Ser Brienne. I wish you safe travels.”

 

By the time they made it out of the city Brienne was more carrying Jaime than supporting him. His breath came out in sharp, shallow gasps and his head hung low.

Thankfully Brienne’s horse was still tied where she’d left it. She had been worried someone might steal it to flee the city, it almost worried her more that no one had. She contemplated seating Jaime on the horse and walking herself, but decided they needed to get away from the city as fast as they could. She positioned herself in front of him, taking the reins and urging the horse forwards.

Jaime’s arms were wrapped around her waist, but his head lolled against her shoulder when she decided they were far enough away from the city to slow to a walk.

“Jaime?”

“‘m okay,” Jaime mumbled near to her ear. It didn’t reassure her much, but she wanted to put as much distance between them and Kings Landing as she could before they stopped for the night, so she grit her teeth and rode on, hyperaware of every one of Jaime’s breaths hot against her neck.

Eventually they came to an inn along the main road, Brienne would have been happier avoiding inns, especially so close to the city, but she was worried about Jaime’s state so didn’t want to camp outside. Besides, she doubted Daenerys would have sent anyone to follow them, she would probably assume them either both dead or still in Winterfell, if she even spared a thought for them which she currently had no reason to.

She helped him off the horse, a worried lump rising in her throat when he all but tumbled off it into her arms. He was shivering so she shucked off her cloak and wrapped it about his shoulders. He almost didn’t seem to notice her doing so, his eyes looked distant, and he swayed on the spot as she looped the ties at his neck.

Brienne went to tell Jaime to remove his golden hand in case they were recognised, before remembering she had left it mangled in the rubble in King’s Landing. She would admit to not being overly disappointed. She bore no love for that thing. It was ostentatious and clunky, serving no real purpose other than showing off the Lannister family wealth, and covering the stump Cersei had been so disgusted by. The end of his right sleeve hung loose now, the leather torn and singed, his arm still cradled awkwardly against his body.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and gently nudged him towards the inn. The initial shock of seeing him alive had worn off, and though she was deeply concerned by the state he was in, the hurt had begun to creep back into her chest, taking root there and squeezing painfully at her lungs. Jaime seemed to sag a little further when she paid for a room with two beds. She didn’t want to leave him in a separate room, whether because she was worried for his health or because she was scared he would disappear again she refused to think about, but she couldn’t bear to share his bed again as if nothing had passed between them. She would trust him with her life in an instant, but with her heart? That damage may be irreparable, though he may save her the trouble and not want to repair it anyway. It was odd to have such little idea about where they stood with each other after all this time.

Jaime tried not to wince as she lowered him gently onto the small bed. She ran to fetch a bowl of water and returned with a few bandages Podrick had packed with her horse. When she returned, Jaime was lying in the same position she had left him in, but his eyes followed her movements. He looked so small and lost like this she could barely stand it.

She unlaced the ruined jacket and helped him slide out of it gingerly, then took up her knife and brought it to the neck of his shirt so she could cut it away without moving his right arm but Jaime held his hand up to stop her.

“It’s the only one I have,” His voice was gravelly and tired. She kept her eyes down.

“I have a spare.”

She ripped the fabric carefully, trying not to jostle him too much, but she saw him bite the inside of his cheek and close his eyes. When he was free from the cloth she surveyed the damage, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

There was a deep gash going from the top of his shoulder across his chest, thankfully it had stopped bleeding but the amount of blood across his torso worried her. His right arm was littered in smaller cuts and grazes and was blooming black and blue with deep bruises. Her eyes dragged to his shoulder, it appeared square and there was a bulge under the skin at the front. She winced at what she was about to do.

“Your shoulder is dislocated, I’ll have to set it,” She said carefully.

Jaime nodded and turned his head away. She grasped his arm by the bicep and wrist and gently rotated it back and forth until she felt it pop back into place and Jaime bit back a groan. She stroked her thumb still on his bicep soothingly until his breathing returned to normal and he nodded his head to indicate he was okay.

Brienne brought the bowl of water closer and began cleaning the wounds. She would see if she could get a bath brought to their room so she could get the rest of the grime and ash off him later but she wanted to check the wounds first. She stitched the gash on his chest up and cleaned the other cuts best she could, before remembering the blood she had seen in his hair. She helped prop him forwards and he leaned heavily against her while she ran her hands through his hair to check for injuries. He winced and pressed his forehead to her collar bone when her fingers grazed over a bad lump. His hair was matted with dried blood but her fingers came away dry which meant the cut hadn’t been deep. That was good, though she was still worried he was badly concussed.

She refused to be embarrassed when she had to strip him of his trousers too. It’s not like she hadn’t seen it all before, even before they’d slept together. His legs hadn’t fared any better than the rest of him so she dutifully cleaned the cuts and stitched any deep ones back together.

“Brienne,” Jaime said softly. She found herself unready to hear anything he had to say though so she shushed him.

“ _Brienne_ ,” He said, firmer this time.

“I don’t want to hear it,” She kept her eyes fixed on the gash on his calf she was dabbing at.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” He plowed on anyway because of _course_ he would. “And I won’t ask you for it. But I need you to know,” She cut him off, shaking her head and swallowing around the burning in the back of her throat. He reached out his hand to touch her face but she pulled back, still looking down. His hand dropped awkwardly to the bed.

“Brienne please, I need you to understand. I couldn’t- I didn’t go back for _her_ , I went back because I knew- there’s not a single living soul Cersei would have listened to. But I thought she might listen to me. I couldn’t stand by safely in Winterfell and let a million people burn if I had even the smallest chance to stop it. I never could, you know that.” Still, Brienne didn’t look up. Jaime tilted his head back against the wall.

“I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t, she’s my sister, but the love we had died so long ago. When she refused to listen to me I left her to die on her damned iron throne.” His voice was thick, like every word cost him. “I went to ring the bells to surrender the city myself and the Dragon Queen burned it all anyway. It was too much. I killed Aerys only to clear the way for his daughter to burn them all anyway.” Brienne looked up finally and Jaime’s eyes were red and glistening with tears.

“You should have let me come, you should have at least _told me,_ ”

“I’ve failed to protect everyone I’ve ever loved, my only achievement wiped out on an instant. I couldn’t lose you too. The only thing that made it bearable, riding to Kings Landing and knowing I was going to die, was knowing you would be safe because of it.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make,” She was angry now, a hard edge creeping into her voice.

“No,” The word came out as a broken laugh, “an honourable man would have let you make that decision for yourself. But I have no honour left in me, I’m selfish and I’m cruel and I knew what your decision would be had I let you make it, and I couldn’t watch you die when I could save you. It hurt more than losing my hand to lose you, to hurt you in such a cruel way and leave you behind but I couldn’t-“ his voice cracked and tears began slipping down his cheeks. “I couldn’t let you make the decision to die with me. You had to live.”

Brienne shook her head, eyes burning and he reached out his hand for her again. She didn’t pull away this time, letting him take her hand in his.

“I love you,” he said. Brienne bit the inside of her mouth and looked away, chin jutting out in an obvious attempt to fight back tears.

“Brienne,” He said more sternly this time, he took her face in his hand, pulling it to look at him. “I love you.” It was almost a whisper. Her face crumpled and tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head so minutely he wouldn’t have known it if he hadn’t still been holding her cheek. His thumb stroked her cheekbone so tenderly it almost made the tears spill over. Finally she met his eye and the raw honesty she saw there felt like it knocked the ground out from underneath her. 

“ _Never_ presume to make my decisions for me again,” And then she was kissing him. The ache in her chest didn’t disappear, rather it morphed into something else, something purer, and perhaps more welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *drops a building on Jaime*  
> me: get up bitch walk it off ur fine
> 
> also see: me complaining loudly about s8 pretending to kill off characters only for them to actually be fine only to do that exact thing in my fic lmaoo, be honest though did any of you actually believe I'd killed him or do we all have our clown shoes on here
> 
> Fun fact though, this is actually the first chapter I wrote for kinda obvious post s8 reasons lmao
> 
> reviews give me motivation to write faster xoxo


	8. The Long Road

Brienne woke to a warm bed that morning, her hand resting on Jaime’s chest, the thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingers reassuring her that _he’s really alive._ She watched him in the early morning light, afraid to even breathe too hard lest the spell be broken. If it was she might wake up and find herself alone again, foolish to have believed he might come back to her. But he was here, warm and solid beneath her touch, chest rising and falling steadily. Skin bruised and scraped and stitched back together, but alive.

It took her three attempts to rouse Jaime, and when he finally did he winced at the light creeping through the shuttered windows and groaned in pain. She tried not to let the worry show on her face as she helped him to a sitting position. He fumbled with the ties on his shirt, hand slow and clumsy, so she nudged him aside to tie it herself. His hand dropped down to rest on her hip instead. She could feel him watching her intently, and felt his breath on her face when he spoke.

“We need to move,”

“How do you feel?”

“Well, I’m still not quite convinced that building _didn’t_ kill me.” She finished lacing his shirt but didn’t move away yet, drinking in his closeness. “Where’s my hand?”

“I believe you lost it defending my honour,” She said lightly.

“You know what I meant, wench,”

“I found it crushed in the rubble. I thought you-“ Her words caught in her throat and she swallowed, “It’s gone.”

“I always hated that thing,” Jaime said lightheartedly, eyes trained on her face trying to gage her reaction, though he tugged his sleeve down further to cover his stump wrist.

“You don’t need to do that,” Brienne said, catching his hand. Jaime’s brow quirked quizzically. “You don’t need to hide it,”

“Cersei always-“

“I’m not her, Jaime,” She said softly. “I love every part of you, and this,” She drew his wrist to her lips, “is no exception,” she placed a featherlight kiss to the scarred skin. Jaime’s eyes were suddenly bright with tears, watching her like one might a miracle unfolding before their eyes. He reached up and touched her cheek with the stump, so gently it was barely there, and she leaned into it, turning her face to press another kiss to his wrist.

“Say that again,” He breathed.

“I love you,”

His face split into the most beautiful grin Brienne had ever seen, and she basked in it like sunlight.

 

Brienne was hesitant to keep riding, Jaime insisted that he was fine but his movements were slow and clumsy and he was easily fatigued. Although he wouldn’t admit to it she could tell he was in considerable pain too. The visible wounds worried her but his head worried her more. When he wasn’t talking to her he looked a thousand miles away, his eyes flat somehow.

“There’s that look again,” Jaime said from where he was slouched against the headboard rather miserably, arm still cradled against his body. “The one I used to tease you for. Watching you wrestle with these dilemmas,” He quoted himself from so long ago.

“Oh stop it,”

“You want to get as far away from the dragon bitch as possible, yet you don’t want to move me for fear of my poor broken body,”

Brienne glared up at him from where she was packing away their meagre supplies.

“I assure you I’m well enough to ride, though if you’re really that concerned about my health maybe we _should_ stay here and you should come back to bed to properly look after me.”

Brienne sighed, she knew he was laying the bravado on thickly to hide his hurts.

“We need to keep moving,” She said carefully.

“Yes,”

“Promise me you won’t lie to me, I need to know how you’re doing. How you’re really doing,”

Jaime looked at her for a long moment.

“My head’s screaming at me. My shoulder feels better than yesterday but the thought of riding all day doesn’t exactly fill me with joy. You did a good job of stitching my skin back together - that should survive the ride but won’t be comfortable. My ribs are bruised to hell and my right leg feels like shit. I’m fine, Brienne. We need to keep moving,”

Brienne bit her lip. She wanted to believe him but wasn’t sure she trusted him not to omit things to ease her worrying.

“The moment you feel unwell enough to ride you tell me,” He nodded his consent and begrudgingly she held out her hands to help him to his feet. As soon as he was vertical though his knees buckled and she caught him, doing her best to avoid his injuries.

“I’m fine,” He said once she had righted him, his head bowed and brow furrowed in pain. “Stood up too fast,”

“Jaime-“

“I’m alright. We need to get moving,”

She knew they would go round in circles if she tried to protest more so against her better judgement she grit her teeth and looped her arm around his waist to help him out to the horses.

Here was where she fought her next battle, albeit in her own head without involving Jaime in this decision. She, selfishly, wanted him close as they rode as they had been yesterday. He’d been in no state to ride by himself by the time they had arrived the previous night, and honestly he was in no state to ride now. But she knew sharing a horse again would be a stupid decision. The horse would be slower and tire quicker and the whole point of this was to get as far away from Kings Landing as quickly as they could.

As if Jaime sensed her thoughts he leaned into her and said lowly, “We only have the one horse,” his eyes flashing though he squinted unhappily in the sunlight.

“I’ll get another horse, just promise not to pass out and fall off,”

“I’ll do my best.”

Jaime grunted painfully when Brienne helped him onto his mount and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“Jaime if this is too much-“

“I’m fine, I just need a second to adjust, go- get your horse.”

 

They rode in silence through the morning, though Jaime spent most of the time looking like he was trying not to throw up. Brienne stayed close, though a few steps behind so she could watch him as well as the path ahead, the image of him deathly sick and falling from his horse replaying itself in her mind.

They stopped in the early afternoon to eat and Jaime perked up a little after his belly was full. He watched Brienne mildly as she redressed his wounds, a detached sort of look on his face she had seen before when he was masking his pain.

“It’s almost good to be back on the road again, like the good old days,” He said.

“Before you lost your hand when you spent the whole time plotting to kill me, or after it when you were slowly dying of blood poisoning?”

He huffed a laugh.

“I wasn’t plotting to kill you the _whole_ time,” Brienne glared at him and he grinned, “alright, maybe it’s not entirely like the old days. I’m sure this time when you shove me under a bush to sleep you’ll be far gentler about it, I might even be successful in convincing you to cuddle for warmth this time too.”

“We’re staying at an inn,”

“That’s ridiculous, we don’t have the money and besides it’s too dangerous, we could be seen,”

“I’m not making you sleep outside in your condition,”

“My- Brienne for the last time, I’m _fine_.”

 

Predictably, they ended up bickering about whether they should stay at an inn or not for a good part of the afternoon, but it made Brienne feel a lot better than his pained silence of the morning had, so when the sun began to dip behind the trees she conceded and found a sheltered patch of the woods for them to stop at and set camp. She’d expected insufferable smugness but when she’d helped Jaime get comfortable his eyes slipped closed almost immediately.

She watched his chest rise and fall as she built the campfire, and nudged him awake when it was time to eat. They ate their meal quietly, Jaime’s eyes drooping before he was quite finished. Brienne took the bowl from his hand, the way you might a young child who had fallen asleep at the table, and gently guided him to his sleeping mat. She turned to stoke the fire but was interrupted by his voice softly calling her name. When she turned to him his eyes were glinting in the firelight, watching her tiredly.

“C’mere,” He said thickly, reaching for her. She took his outstretched hand and let him tug her down gently to lie with him. He wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, tangling his hand in her hair, and she lay her cheek delicately on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of him.

“I’m sorry,” He said, burying his nose in her hair, “for all of this,”

“When will you stop apologising?”

“When you stop being hurt by my actions,”

“I’m not-“

“If I’m not allowed to lie to you about how hurt I am then you’re not allowed to lie to me about how hurt you are,”

“That’s completely different,”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Her hand found its way to rest on his chest, the beat of his heart beneath her palm. “What’s done is done, if you want me to be happy then stop torturing yourself over decisions you made to protect the people you love. You couldn’t have stopped this.”

There was a long pause, then Jaime breathed, “I don’t deserve you, wench,” and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“You do,” She murmured back, and tilted her head up to press a kiss to his jaw before tucking her head comfortably back under his chin. He squeezed his arm tighter around her for a moment, and before too long his breathing evened and slowed.

 

Their progress north was slow as Jaime could only stand so much riding per day before his injuries forced them to stop, though it was faster than when they had done the reverse journey on foot, and rather more enjoyable now they could stand each other’s company a little more. And though Jaime often looked a thousand miles away, and would sometimes look at Brienne as though she wasn’t there at all, his concussion symptoms seemed to be easing too.

For the most part they avoided inns; they were both too recognisable to risk being spotted and having their whereabouts reported to the queen, but as they got further north and the temperatures dropped they made the occasional exception.

It was in their second week of traveling, sat in an inn with a disappointing pie in front of them each, knees touching beneath the table, that they heard tell of an approaching army. They’d been rather out of the loop on their journey, not wanting to be within earshot of anyone discussing politics even when they did stop at an establishment such as this lest they draw unwanted attention. But they overheard a man informing the innkeeper that he was likely going to have an army passing through soon so should be prepared. Brienne’s heart caught in her throat, this was either good news or very bad news.

“Excuse me,” Brienne stopped the man as he went to leave, “whose army did you say is approaching?”

“The Starks’,” He replied, “coming down from the North.”

Brienne visibly deflated and thanked the man. When she glanced at Jaime however, he looked less relieved by this.

“They’ll behead me for treason,” He said it like he was arguing with her already, though she hadn’t spoken yet.

“I’ll talk to Lady Sansa,”

“You already vouched for me to Lady Sansa once before and look what I did in thanks,”

“You defended the castle!”

“Yes, and then I betrayed everyone!”

“You didn’t, you know that’s not true! You left to try and stop your sister,”

“Yes but do you really think Sansa is going to care about _why_ I committed treason?”

“It wasn’t treason-“

“That’s what she’s going to see it as. We need to avoid them,”

“And what exactly did you think our plan had been this whole time? We’ve been traveling towards Winterfell for two weeks!”

“I don’t know! I figured we’d work it out when it was necessary, but it just became rather immediately necessary. We don’t even know if Sansa will be with them, if she’s not I’ll be arrested on sight and you won’t be able to do anything about it.”

Brienne sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Either they’re marching south to declare war on Daenerys or to bend the knee,”

“Jon already bent the knee, that’s why he’s in Kings Landing with Daenerys,”

“While Sansa is in Winterfell the Northerners will follow her, and Daenerys is...paranoid. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made demands for Lady Sansa to travel to Kings Landing to prove her loyalty once more.”

“That would make more sense than declaring war after Daenerys has proved what she’s capable of,” He agreed begrudgingly.

“Which means Lady Sansa will likely be with them,” Jaime started to object but Brienne continued, “I’ll talk to her and explain the situation. I will not let you be punished once again for attempting to save thousands of lives, it’s not fair.”

“I think you may be the only person alive who cares what is fair anymore.”

He grumbled his way through dinner, but that night he wrapped Brienne tightly in his arms, and though they didn’t speak on the subject more, she knew he was afraid of losing her and wished not for the first time that she could do something to ease his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god this chapter was like pulling teeth, the sudden shift from rewriting show canon to writing completely original material really threw me. I have the next chapter pretty much finished already though so it shouldn't be such a wait for that one. 
> 
> one day I'll write a fic where I don't have to do extensive research into concussions, today is not that day though


	9. Speak

It was two days before they finally reached the approaching army. Brienne sat tall astride her horse and demanded to speak with Lady Sansa. The banner-men wanted to arrest Jaime on the spot but Brienne declared that he was under her protection and that if anyone wished to object they could take it up with the lady themselves. Begrudgingly, the men escorted them both to Sansa, given that either way that would be the goal here.

Lady Sansa was astride a beautiful grey horse rather than in a carriage. Brienne knew that when she was younger she had hated horse-riding, but now she found it better than being sat in a wooden box with no windows. Her striking auburn hair was pulled back neatly and her grey woollen cloak draped prettily over her mount. Brienne would never understand how she managed to look so elegant even while travelling.

Sansa’s face grew cold and unreadable when she set eyes on Jaime, and she waved for the procession to halt.

“Lady Brienne,” She inclined her head, “I assume Ser Jaime is not with you as a prisoner,”

“He is not,”

“Then you have a good reason for why not?”

“I do,”

Sansa regarded her coolly for a moment before turning to one of her men.

“We will set camp here for the day.” She regarded Brienne, “You must be tired from your ride, see to it that they’re fed and watered and then have them both brought to my tent,” she told the soldier to her right, who nodded and gestured the pair to follow him.

Jaime and Brienne exchanged looks, that wasn’t exactly how they’d expected that to go, though Brienne wasn’t particularly surprised. They dismounted and someone led their horses away, and Brienne couldn’t help but feel they had just become prisoners until further notice. Not that she could blame Sansa for her wariness.

They were led into a tent that had been erected with impressive speed, and given food and water. They were left alone with two guards stationed outside the tent’s entrance. It had been a while since they’d had a decent meal so they ate the food gratefully, dry and bland though it was, thighs pressed together under the table.

“It’ll be okay, she’ll understand,” Brienne said softly, more to reassure herself than Jaime. He didn’t say anything for once but took her hand and squeezed it. She could practically feel the weariness beneath his skin, being back in a Stark war camp, and she found herself silently agreeing.

Sansa entered the tent and they both stood. Her face was carefully schooled but Brienne saw her eyes flick to Jaime’s hand on hers even as he dropped it. It struck Brienne just how mature Sansa looked. She stood with perfect poise, hands clasped in front of her and head held high. She had grown into herself, no longer the scared little girl Brienne had tracked down and saved, who had stumbled her way through the words offering Brienne meat and mead at her table. Brienne thought, she was the perfect picture of what had always been expected of _her_ when she was growing up. And where ladyship had clashed with her, stifling and overwhelming her, it suited Sansa perfectly, coating her in her own armour, of sorts.

“My lady,” Brienne bowed her head, though Sansa’s attention remained locked onto Jaime.

“Sit,” She said evenly, taking her own seat across the table from them.

“I assume there is a reason you’ve come to me with Ser Jaime as a free man rather than a prisoner, despite the treason he committed,”

“I do,” Sansa inclined her head to indicate Brienne should explain, so she plowed on. “No treason was committed, my lady. Ser Jaime was a guest to Winterfell and was free to leave at any time. He did not go back to protect Cersei, he went to try and convince her to surrender to prevent the loss of life at Queen Daenerys’ hand-”

“Daenerys is not queen,” Sansa said, Brienne and Jaime both straightened.

“Cersei didn’t-“ Jaime started, his voice was even but Brienne could feel him tense beside her.

“Your sister is dead,” Sansa’s eyes flashed dangerously, concealing a dark joy at the words. “She was found burned to death on the iron throne after the attack,”

Jaime swallowed dryly and looked away.

“It is how she intended to die,” He said finally, his voice clipped. Brienne ached to reach out to him but Sansa’s close gaze bound her to her seat.

“And Daenerys?” Brienne said, drawing Sansa’s attention to her.

“Killed by my brother. Cousin.” She corrected herself.

Brienne let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding since they had left Kings Landing.

“Ser Jaime, I think I’d like to hear your side of the story, if you wouldn’t mind,” Sansa said calmly.

“My lady perhaps Ser Jaime could have a minute to process-“ Brienne began but Jaime held up his hand to stop her.

“It’s alright,” He said softly. He looked at Sansa and there was a challenge in her eyes. He drew himself up to meet it, and began recounting the tale, voice somewhat tight but otherwise calm. This time, thought Brienne, he wouldn’t suffer for a Stark judging him before hearing his story. It was a comforting thought, though dampened for now by worry.

When Jaime was finished Sansa nodded.

“Thank you, for your honesty, Ser Jaime. I think you a fool for thinking you stood a chance at singlehandedly preventing this whole war, and should you hurt Ser Brienne again I’ll have you executed, however your actions were noble. You are welcome to travel to Kings Landing with us as a free man, or to return to Winterfell and remain there as a guest should you wish. Ser Brienne you are welcome to the same choices,”

“My lady, your sister-“ Brienne began, Sansa broke her off with a small smile.

“Arrived at camp several days before you,”

“She’s alive?”

“I’m not quite sure how she managed it, but yes,”

“I am sorry I did not find her first.” Brienne cast her eyes downward in shame, “I had hoped we would run into her on the King’s Road if she had survived. I am grateful she found her way back to you without my help,”

“As am I. You must be tired, I’ll have Podrick show you to a tent. You can make your decision for where you wish to go tomorrow,”

“Thank you, my lady.”

 

The silence in the tent when they were left alone was deafening, it crept down Brienne’s throat and stole her voice away, lashed her to her seat and stopped her from reaching for Jaime even though she wanted to. She could feel the pain radiating off him but was completely helpless to help in any way.

She could see him slipping away inside of himself, and worried if he went to far he might never return.

And then Podrick appeared through the tent flap, breaking the spell.

“M’lady ser, ser,” He nodded to them in turn, though his voice took on a sharp edge when he addressed Jaime. He had always been protective of Brienne. She would explain the situation to him later, Jaime need not face yet more animosity for decisions he made with a good heart.

“Podrick, I’m glad to see you. I trust all has been well here?” Brienne said.

“It has. If you’d like to follow me your tent is ready,” He gestured behind him. Brienne rose and prompted Jaime to with a hand on his arm, then nudged him forwards with a gentle but firm pressure on his lower back. Podrick watched him coldly for a moment before ducking out of the tent and showing them to a considerably smaller one, equipped with two sleeping mats and not a lot else.

“Thank you, Pod,” Brienne said, “I’ll speak with you tomorrow.” He nodded and bowed and left them alone again.

Brienne nudged Jaime into the small tent and climbed in after him. For a moment he just sat there, his eyes flat and emotionless. It felt as if an iron fist had taken hold of Brienne’s chest and was squeezing the air out of her. Jaime started slightly when her hand found his cheek and he turned his expressionless eyes to her. It startled her for a moment the way he appeared to look straight through her. She took his hand in her free one and squeezed it, tracing his cheekbone lightly with her thumb, and his expression softened ever so slightly.

“Jaime I’m so sorry,” She breathed, and at once his face crumbled as his eyes filled with tears. She pulled him forwards and he fit his face into the crook of her neck. One of her hands went to his nape, the other to rub slow circles into his back. She wasn’t sure how long she held him like that, but eventually his shoulders stopped shaking and she guided him to lay down with her, his face pillowed on her chest.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, and her heart broke all over again. She shushed him, resting her cheek to his hair.

“It doesn’t matter what happened, she was your sister and you loved her,” She said.

“I shouldn’t have,” It was so quiet Brienne wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear. She couldn’t disagree with him, all she could do pull him tighter, trace shapes into his back as her shirt grew damp with his silent tears.

Cersei’s presence was heavy in the tent that night, but when they clambered out of it in the morning, she was gone, like early morning fog evaporated in the sunlight. Her death would not ever be a _good_  thing, but it was closure. It was freedom.

Their horses were returned to them, supplies freshly stocked, and they rode north for Winterfell under Lady Sansa’s blessing. Neither had any desire to return to King’s Landing, in fact Brienne was sure Jaime was planning a life where he never had to set foot in the city again, with which she found herself wholeheartedly agreeing. Where they would go from there, they weren’t sure, but they had time now, something neither had had in a long while. Maybe ever. And the time stretched out in front of them, foreign and terrifying and drenched in _hope_.

 

Soon, Brienne’s shoulders would grow heavy with the cloak of house Lannister. Thick woven fabric, embroidered and glittering in the light of the setting sun. Roaring lions and golden sunbursts uniting. Jaime would switch the name _wench_ for _wife_  and the word would taste so sweet on his lips he’d be certain it could sustain him for the rest of his days.

Some time after, pressed together in bed, Brienne’s hands holding Jaime’s to her stomach, his smile would burn brighter than a thousand suns, and he would cry tears of joy and press kisses to every inch of her body. They would move to Tarth to raise their children there. Jaime would play wooden swords with them on the golden sand, sapphire water lapping at their ankles. He would yell and clutch his stump wrist, falling to his knees and proclaiming they had bested him and taken his hand to boot and the children would pounce atop him and wrestle him into the sand, shrieking with laughter.

Brienne would make sure they knew the stories of their father’s bravery, and he would ensure they heard the stories of hers. The children would grow up brave and strong and happy, and oh so _tall_.

Eventually, when the gold in Jaime’s hair had long since faded to white, he slipped away first, older and more battle damaged as he was. He went peacefully with Brienne at his side, always at his side. A far gentler death than he’d ever allowed himself dream for, after a far gentler life than he’d ever thought himself worthy.

She lived on several years more, helped their eldest son to grow into the fair and good ruler he was destined to be. And when the Stranger took her hand and led her into the Night, she found Jaime waiting at the gates of After for her, his hair spun gold and his eyes cut emeralds.

And their souls, twined together, were drenched in sunlight for all eternity.

But for now, they lay tangled together on a feather bed wrapped in furs, hot spring water rushing through the stone castle walls, fire crackling and bathing them in light, glinting in Brienne’s sapphire eyes. Jaime looked at her like she was the whole world, and she looked right back.

 

 

_end_

 

 

_In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun._ \- Madeline Miller, The Song Of Achilles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this fic is finally finished, this is literally the first fic I've ever properly finished rather than vaguely abandoning somewhere near the end so I didn't have to come to a conclusion lmao. There's huge chunks of this fic I'm super unhappy with and it was all just edited as I went so maybe someday I'll edit the whole thing properly and clean it up but for now it's done
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read and left a comment, this fic has had such a wonderful reception and it's been so lovely reading all your messages, this was my first ever GoT/braime fic so I hope I did them justice <3
> 
> see u around my dudes


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